A Type of Perseveration

Amnesia hits a teen, and its aftermath could be life changing.

I wrote this story to engage you, as an audience, get you questioning your philosophies, how the human mind works, and how your peers contribute to who you are.

Keep an open mind.


1. discovering

~~My mum had made a habit out of the constantly reiteration of ‘time is money’. Her voice is stuck in my brain, saying it over, and over, and over. Because if that’s the case, she’ll be less than pleased to find that I’d lost what seems like a lifetime's worth of it. I had no memory, and no money either, although those matters were made insignificant by the fear and desperation I felt at my complete and utter loneliness. I swear someone was supposed to be here for me now that I’ve woken up. I can’t remember my name, my family, or my home, but I can remember that someone is meant to be here for me.
The sense that I had disappointed that person, someone or anyone, was intensified by the greeting I was meet with on awakening. A greeting that could be compared to that of a buyer presenting with an empty canvas. An empty canvas mounted on a blank wall, as if to deepen its gapping white non-existence, calling out and teasing me for any expectations I might have hoped to hold.
Anticlimactic, is probably a more decipherable way of saying it, but that wouldn’t half cover the entirety of how let down I felt. It’s like my void of a brain, despite its lack of knowledge, had expected at least a family of unfamiliar, worry sick faces, ready to embrace me after long minutes, hours, or even days of the tension and stress surrounding the sleep I’d succumbed to.
‘You’re only there when I don’t need you, and never when I do. So just stop trying. Frankly it’s embarrassing’
Okay so maybe that was a lot to expect, but here I was. A nullity. It was as if a whole had been pierced somewhere inside of me, and all my memories had leaked out onto the pavement, right where I’d fallen and hit my head. Not that I remembered that yet.
That’s when the nurse made her anticlimactic entrance. I remember clearly now the relief that flooded over me, how I had been coddled into a sense of security by simply none other than the presences of another human being. I guess that means I could have been an extrovert. Before.
 I tried to smile at her, smile through the many outlying layers of my confusion, but it was brushed off with a frown. I was left with the distinct feeling this lady, this total stranger, knew more about me then I knew about myself, I felt as if she knew that I didn’t deserve to receive a counter smile, and I felt as if this new exponent in my life, wasn’t in fact, new at all.
‘okay okay, here’s what you missed, future me: Mums friend, that bitchy nurse? Yeah hard to forget but anyway, I totally forgot to tell you! You know that night I broke my wrist at that party? Yeah the real rowdy one at Jacobs’s house where I fell of the table, I’m sure you’ll remember that one!
Anyway, she was the one who was meant to be looking after me at after hours and she totally almost made me walk home! Can you believe that crazy dyke? She pulled the ‘after all your mums gone through’ card.
What about what I’ve gone through bitch? He’s my dad!
There was a crash, and it was my fault.
 It didn’t seem like the first thing you were supposed to say to an obviously traumatized, newly awakened patient. Maybe in the movies, sure, but not in real life. It was tactless and harsh, although it was nothing compared to the low aimed blow she was next to serve my way.
“I thought I’d refrain from calling your mother, she’s been through enough on your behalf”
This must mark the first time the nurse truly looked at me, and I have no doubt that it the truly naïve, fearful look brimming from my eyes, and inelegantly angled, cowed body that prevented her continuing further in her abuse of my unexplained actions.
“Ava, are you suffering from any head achiness, confusion, memory loss, sickness?” I didn’t know how to respond to her salvo of questions. My Confusion refrained me from forming a clear answer.
I wished I could curl in on myself, hide in the folds of my bruised limbs to protect myself from the demeanor of prejudices armoring this strange women’s face. No, more than that. I wanted to go home. Where ever that may be, It had to be better than the blank canvas that formed this empty, emotionless room.
“Do you remember your name?” She was tossing me an easy question. A question I knew that I could answer it correctly. I had retained certain facts about myself, certain facts about the world, that I was more than positive were true, and relevant to where I was. My name was Ava, I was informed by fast traveling neuro signals, although any other information I had query’s about remained too deep to dig up, hidden in the folds of my broken hippocampus.
“Address? Friend’s names? Anything else you can tell me about yourself” I remember the nurse asking, her voice growing in pitch as her distress became more evident.
“My favorite colors blue, if that helps” I’d answered, sending a despairing glance at my universe of white.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...